


horizon

by trykynyx



Category: Ancient Egyptian Religion
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 21:20:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4681877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trykynyx/pseuds/trykynyx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>horizon: (noun) the line or circle that forms the apparent boundary between earth and sky</p>
            </blockquote>





	horizon

**Author's Note:**

> cross-posted on tumblr, written for/because of my Egyptian mythology graphic series

The bed is far too small for them both, but it hardly matters. Nut is sprawled across Geb’s chest, and when she inhales she can taste the sweat pooling in the hollow of his throat. His hands are clutching her hips so tightly that they would hurt any other, but she can bear the fire of the sun-the burn and ache of her husband’s fingers are sparks that send thrills through her spent body.

She can hear the shouting of the street vendors outside, the rattling of wheels on the uneven road. If she closed her eyes, it could be another time, because some things never change. Her eyelids are just starting to flutter shut–gods can be nostalgic creatures, you see– when Geb tugs on a damp piece of her hair.

“Where have you gone?” His voice rumbles, almost too quiet to be heard over the rhythmic hum of the ancient box fan. The feel of it reverberating in his chest sets her insides to quivering.

“Nowhere. Back. Before.” Nut clucks her tongue, irritated with its clumsiness. There is little need for words at the edge of sky-the enemies of the world need only the strong curve of her back to understand her. 

Geb kneads the handful of her in his hands, lets her work it out–he knows what it is like, to be  a dark place that words cannot reach. She almost has her thoughts coordinated with her lips when a car alarm goes off nearby, and the sudden shrillness of it sends her shooting halfway out of bed. 

His hands stop her from going too far, grip like vices along her lower back and thighs. They have not been parted in the two days they have had together, half-mad with the ability to touch one another. She huffs, and lounges back, curling into the heat of him.

“I had forgotten how loud it was down here,” Nut says, tracing a finger absently around his nipple, watches the soft shudder go through him.

“It is louder now than it was before,” he replies, rubbing his hand down her thighs. She hums, does her best not to think about how long it has been since the last time they had lain like this. The five days Thoth had won her were hers still, but they had to wait centuries at a time to share the pleasures of the marriage bed. 

Geb can feel the sadness shift in her, like roots spreading through soft loam, out and out, a web of quiet sorrow. He nuzzles at her hairline, fingers at the dimples in her haunches.

“Perhaps you can stay, to see how much louder they can get,” he muses. “They are as ingenious as ever, always tinkering away. Would you not like to see them up close?” It is a foolish question, but his heart aches with the potential of it, like a million fields of seeds, all teetering on the edge of becoming.

She sighs and her nails scratch lightly across his chest, and the nebulous glow of her dims for a moment as she shrinks into herself, collapsing around an impossible dream. 

“Why not?” He has always spoken more than her–growing things need all manner of whispered coaxing, whether they come from pod or womb– and he is not afraid to carry this conversation alone. “How many of us have left our posts? How many have left the world to its own devices?”

Nut closes her eyes, listens to his heartbeat race and rumble like a landslide. Yes, it is true, she had seen the gods that had slipped from their places, halfway between the arc of her body among the stars and the world of men. They were as innumerable as comets, those strangers that were also her kin, like cousin constellations crafted from the same manner of light and dust. She had watched as some had slipped down to walk the earth, while many more had drifted quietly beyond her reach into the dark, nameless and faceless and so long forgotten. But none had been a child of Ra. None had ruled and watched and loved the land of the Nile delta.

“We are made of stronger stuff, you and I,” she murmurs back, rocks her hips into his to soften the blow, uses words to salve the sting though silence suits her better. “Besides, what devices could the world have, without the earth and sky?”

Geb grumbles, but the pull between them puts gravity and orbits to shame, has kept him aching for her across the ages. When she seats herself on top of him, his groan is like the felling of a tree.

“You know, we are quite a progressive pair,” she says, moving teasingly against him, teeth as white as a winter moon in her smiling mouth, “The Lord of the land and the Lady of the sky.” 

He is done with talking now, and leans up to nip playfully at the underside of her breast. She giggles, and if they had cared to look they would have seen stardust in the dusk of the room, swirling in patterns that satellites would only witness a hundred years from now. When he slides into her with a sigh, flowers sprout and bloom in dark corners. 


End file.
